


Just to Be

by hiddenpowerfire



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, I suppose, M/M, Minor Character Death, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenpowerfire/pseuds/hiddenpowerfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyoutani is a traveler on his way to the grand city. He is not lost, but he does need a guide.<br/>Yahaba is... a helper, living in the forest on the way to the city. When travelers get lost, they will help them find a path.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon,” the old man greets him with a wave.<br/>“Afternoon,” he replies. “Do you know how to get to the city?”<br/>“Be more specific. Do you want a pumpkin?” The man's cart is piled with them and he pats the nearest one. Kentarou frowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Would any of you belive me if I told you this was inspired somehow by Mockingjay: Part 2? Cause I don't.  
> I don't... I don't really know how this happened. But I kinda like it?
> 
> (I'm not yours, and you're not [mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0Ohl3MMq0o) but we can sit and pass the time)

Kentarou takes a deep breath to settle his mind before stepping into the town. It's a fairly small town in comparison to the cities nearby, but large enough to have many shop owners and less farmers. He can smell bread baking, fragrant loaves a tempting thing but he steels himself. It's not time for that.

Down the road, he sees an open market.

It’s a cool day with a light wind blowing through his short hair. Warm enough for people to be out and about, but cold enough to dissuade any large crowds. He takes this as a blessing, heading over to an old man's cart.

“Good afternoon,” the old man greets him with a wave.

“Afternoon,” he replies. “Do you know how to get to the city?”

“Be more specific. Do you want a pumpkin?” The man's cart is piled with them and he pats the nearest one. Kentarou frowns.

“No thanks,” he says. “The city with the royal castle. You know the way?”

“Ah, the city. Yes I do.” The man gets to his feet.

“That over there is the Forest of the Watcher,” he states, pointing behind him. “You'll have to pass through there to get where you want to go.”

He looks at him dubiously, then at where he points. There’s a small trail starting a little ways down that leads away through the market. Off in the distance, he sees the forest and a layer of fog.

“You got a map or anything?”

“Map? Oh, no,” the man says with a chuckle. “Everyone that’s tried making one always got turned around to return with a bunch of nonsense. Nothin’ in those woods makes sense, really.”

Kentarou’s eyes narrow. “Then how’m I supposed to get through there? I'll be lost forever.”

“That’s the thing—you won’t get lost. No one has.”

“Well,” the man continues after a thought. “No one’s gotten lost in the forest, exactly. They always ended up on the right path, somehow. It’s like something's guarding them. Watching, you could say. It’s why we call it that."

“So you’re telling me to just walk into a forest I don’t know, while I can’t see an arms length in front of me, with no kind of map or path, and just _hope_ I’ll make it there?” he asks with a glare, biting back an animalistic growl. “That’s just ridiculous!”

“It’s not the only path, of course. The main road that traders use passes through the center of town, then up north to the city. It’s a longer route than the forest, a week more of walkin’, but it's still there.” And he starts heading away, lifting his cart to move, and giving Kentarou a cursory glance. “Pick one and continue. Have a good trip.”

Kentarou watches until the man is out of sight before turning. He needs supplies.

 

  
  
The first thing he learns that day: The old wasn’t lying about the forest being confusing as fuck.

The trail that runs into the wood stops just inside it, ending suddenly when the trees start thickening, leaving him pathless. He continues on anyways—pushing aside branches cluttering his view, stumbling over low bushes and tree roots—until he reaches a clearing. It’s still foggy so his vision is terrible, but he thinks it’s a fairly large clearing with a stream flowing through it somewhere, murmuring secretly in the mist. He takes a few cautious steps in then stops when he senses a presence.

It comes suddenly, much like if someone had thrown a cloth over his head, only lighter and less solid. As if he had walked into a room full of people all turning to look at him, only there’s only one and there’s no one there. Except for-

_Hello traveler_.

A voice, but not. Heard through the rustling of leaves and a gust of wind, a message lacking sound, a tickling thought he does not understand how he knows. But he does. And it speaks.

_Are you lost?_

“No,” he responds, voice a bit scratchy from lack of use. “But there's no path.”

A curious feeling ripples around him, carried on a gentle breeze. _Where is your destination?_

“My destination?”

_Where would you like to go?_ , the voice (the closest word to what he’s talking to) asks.

“To the next city,” he replies dismissively. “Don't suppose you know where that is, do you?”

A disgruntled gust of wind ruffles his worn clothes. _I do, I’m afraid. If you would like, I can show you the path there._

“Do your best.”

Somehow, he feels as if the voice huffs, offended, before a rabbit appears before him. It’s white with unsettling eyes that stare into him for a second before hopping off quickly. He chases after it. It leads him across the clearing, over the stream (a clear trickle over smooth rocks), to the opposite side where it dives into a bush, waiting on the other side as Kentarou steps over it clumsily to see there actually is a path. It’s rough and worn, like an old trail forgotten to the world, but still there.

“Huh. Thanks,” he says. Can't be ungrateful.

The strange presence trickles away as the rabbit nods, leaving with it. Kentarou simply turns, following the path given to him.

 

  
  
He’s been walking for a while—Minutes? Hours?—when the trail splits suddenly and stops. He checks both paths a bit hopefully, but they end up just being divided around a large tree (wider than a full arms length), meeting at the other side and fading to forest floor.

And it’s still foggy.

Great.

“Great,” he says out loud, dropping down to lean against the tree and groan. “Just great.”

Where’s a guide when you need one? Oh wait-

“Hey. Weird voice thing. Anyone. What the h-“

_Yes?_ The presence drops in, surrounding him unexpectedly.

“Holy sh-Give a warning next time!” Kentarou almost yells, flinching.

_Sorry_ , the voice says, and it actually sounds (feels?) apologetic. He almost feels bad. Almost.

_Why did you call?_

“The path ended.” He gets to his feet. “I need another one.”

_The path ended? That… That is not supposed to happen. Are you lying?_

“Why would I lie?” And he points to the path as proof. “What do you mean it’s not supposed to happen?”

_I. It’s._ The voice hesitates for a moment. _It’s nothing. Would you like me to find you another path?_

“Please.”

A slow wind blows by, much like a sigh, and suddenly there is a bird, chirping from its perch on a nearby branch. (It’s strange, like the rabbit. Small and white, with eyes bright, shining gold.) It hops once, twice, and then starts to sing, a short tune that for some reason feels nostalgic even though he’s never heard it before, and the trees start to dance.

Well, it looks as if the trees dance, shifting away and to each other, roots uprooting, branches swaying, until there is a fair amount of space in between. Stones rise up from the earth in that space, coming together as Kentarou watches, fitting into a pathway as the bird continues on. He continues to watch in amazement as the movement dies down and the song ends.

_Your path_ , the voice says, light breeze curling around his ear. A warm gust of air swirls around carrying a laugh when his mouth flaps open and closed, speechless, bringing with it hints of summer.

Which is strange, he thinks. Summer passed a while ago.

(It’s why he wears a worn shirt with long stitched up sleeves. Why he must keep his only pair of pants that can cover his ankles, hem worn and ragged from overwork.)

The bird chirps and disappears.

“T-thanks,” he chokes out, eyes wide. “How did…”

_How did I do that?_ the voice finishes. _That was not me. I had simply asked the forest and it responded._

“Who are you?” There’s no way…

_I am merely a helper, it replies. And who are you?_

“I am merely a traveler,” he replies with a cough. He earns another warm breeze in response. “You got a name?”

_Yes_ , it says, and nothing else.

“What is it?”

_That is… I’m afraid I cannot tell you_. A cold wind makes him shiver. _Names are a very special thing._

“Oh,” and it’s silent, awkward, until Kentarou yawns.

_Are you tired? Should you not hurry away? The path is right there._

“Or I could just sleep here.” He punctuates this by sitting back by the large tree and placing his pack down. “It’s safe, right? Also easier.”

_I suppose so_ , the voice concedes, though with a disgruntled breeze rustling the leaves. _I shall leave you then._

“Alright.” He stretches, lying with the pack as his pillow. “G’night.”

_Good… night_. And the presence trickles away again.

Kentarou falls asleep soon after.

 

  
  
The next morning (afternoon? evening? he hasn’t seen the light change in a while) he starts his way down the stone path. It’s still foggy, but it’s beginning to feel normal. Not as annoying. Not that bad.

Until it makes his almost walk off a cliff.

“What in the-Hey! Guide thing!” he shouts, stopping just short of the edge. “Hey!”

Kentarou peers over then recoils, dizzy. The cliff is high, higher than the trees down below, their tops a floor from where he stands. From the quick glance he sees the path continuing down the cliff face, a narrow path snaking back and forth, down into the trees.

He hates heights.

_Yes, traveler?_ The voice appears, suddenly like always. _What is the problem?_

He simply takes a step back, farther away from the edge. A questioning breeze blows by. (Since when can breezes be questioning? How did he even know it was questioning?)

_Are you afraid?_ the voice asks. He swallows.

_Oh, you are afraid. Well I am afraid I cannot find you another path. I was lucky to find you a second._ A light puff of air much like a sigh moves the air. _Would you please hurry along?_

Kentarou tries to step forward determinedly but can’t. “It’s foggy. That’s a rock path. The cliff is fuckin’ high. I'm gonna die.”

_You will not die_. The voice seems to sense his uncertainty because it asks, _Would you like me to hold your hand?_

His nod is part joke, part disbelief, and all ‘I’m going to die if someone doesn’t’ but then the fog starts to clear.

Wait—not clear.

It starts to _gather_.

The fog around him starts to swirl, twisting to form a hazy figure in front of him that stands at the cliff’s edge. More fog gathers from all around until the entire cliff is clear except for the spot where it spins, thickening, solidifying, and if he were less afraid he’d be in awe as what was previously fog forms into limbs and a body and _clothes_ until there is a person standing in front of him, stretching and admiring its newly formed hands.

The person is pale; pale as the fog it was from, but with silver hair. They’re just a bit taller than Kentarou, he notices, but thinner. Much thinner. But that’s all forgotten when they turn around.

Gold, he thinks. Pure gold.

Like the rabbit and the bird, their eyes are gold, but the color is much more impactful. Human eyes, round and innocent, somehow striking a sort of fear in his heart with their gaze, intense and focused as they meet Kentarou’s. They shine in the light and he can’t find it in himself to look away.

“ _Traveler?_ ” Their voice ripples through the air much like before only he can hear it this time, though their lips don’t move. The sound is rich and smooth with the melodic undertones of birdsong, soft and innocent, but infused with a strange pulsing of power, intimidating in its own way. The figure blinks, tilts their head. “ _Shall we go?_ ”

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he grumbles but steps forwards anyways. Then he hesitates.

“ _I do not make false offers_ ,” they say. A hand is extended. “ _And I have offered to help_.”

Their hand remains open but Kentarou doesn’t take it until it starts to clench hesitantly, as if pulling back, so he grabs it, surging ahead to the pathway. And stops.

“ _Just follow me_ ,” the voice says and he swears they rolled their eyes. But he’s too panicked to care as they drag him to the path and down it, forcing him to take one step after another as he avoids looking over the side.

“ _Why have you come here?_ ” The sudden question breaks through the clouds in his brain. He blinks in surprise.

“It was the faster way,” Kentarou answers, eyes moving focus to the back of their head, ignoring the question’s deeper meaning. Their hands dangle between them and he clenches his curiously. They wiggle theirs back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Holdin’ my hand. Being nice. Helping travelers. Living here.”

“ _I help you because I want to_.” They've made it to the third turn, the first two passed in silence. “ _And I live here because it is my home_.”

“S’not much goin’ on. Aren’t you lonely? There’s nothing living around.” He realizes this as soon as he says it out loud. The only life he’d run into since he entered other than plants was…

“What even are you?” he asks. The hand in his goes limp for a few seconds.

“ _I am… I am a helper_ ,” they say, voice shaking. “ _I was… Born in the forest. I woke in the forest after… I am… I'm not… It’s…_ ”

Their hand—their already cold hand—drops in temperature until it is literally freezing, cold as ice. Kentarou tries to let go, fingers releasing their grip, but they only tighten theirs. Wind buffets them where they stand which only makes his fear grow, feet scrambling away, away from the edge but it’s too close, still too close, he needs to run-

A gasp and the fingers loosen their iron grip. They move, instead, to pull his wrist and push him away. He lands on his hands and knees just a little ways away, breathing too fast, too frantic.

They’ve made it to the ground.

He focuses on calming his breathing, taking deep breaths to settle his heart, his mind (he didn't know he was whimpering) until he's no longer filled with panic and hears a light buzzing tickling his ears. He looks up.

The voice is pressed to the cliff face, eyes squeezed closed. Their clothes are rumpled, hair mussed from the wind, and they look so broken. Solid limbs are dissipating into the fog, thick clouds being released into air. A mumbled chant:

“ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_ ”

They’re crying, he realizes.

“I came here,” Kentarou says quietly, “to keep away from any people.”

They don’t stop evaporating, but it slows. “ _Why?_ ”

He almost cringes at how weak the word sounds. Some part of him wants to walk over. (Wants to protect them. He ignores it.) “Because. I’m goin’ to the city to turn myself in.”

The fog starts to collect. “ _Why would you do that?_ ”

“Because I’m cursed.”

The word makes them pause. “ _Cursed?_ ”

“Cursed,” he says with a sigh. “I’m a danger to everyone.”

“ _How?_ ”

“Well, I dunno. I might go on a rampage if I get mad. Might poach a few animals if I get hungry at night.” He drops his gaze. “Might kill my family because we’re too poor to have extra food.”

It’s quiet for a moment, filled with his harsh breathing and the rustling of leaves. Then a hand is placed on his head.

It runs through his hair, calmly, gently. Another hand joins it, scratching behind his ear, and he whines, surging into the touch.

“ _Tell me_ ,” they say. “ _About the curse_.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“It was just-just a month ago. We went huntin’—me and by dad—and there was a ghost or somethin’. We were just, tracking some deer when this massive wolf just charged us.” He feels himself being pulled to his feet. “We didn’t know what to do so we ran. My dad, we got split, he made it home. I ran into an abandoned house. There was this… I don't know. But something was mad.”

He thinks he’s walking, being guided along by his shoulders. He continues.

“The wolf—the wolf rammed into the wall? It caved in and we were suddenly surrounded by shadows or somethin’. I thought I was goin’ to die.”

“Must’ve put the wolf in me, cause I somehow got home and felt so hungry. The wolf was hunting too, you know? So I-” He stops talking with a shudder. A hand grips his reassuringly.

“I didn’t want that to happen again,” Kentarou says after a second. He turns his head to squint at the guide, meeting blinking gold. Looks away.

“ _What’s it like?_ ” they ask.

He doesn’t know what they’re asking, but he answers: “It’s like half my thoughts aren’t mine. It’s like I’m a feared predator, only there’s a constant emptiness that’s probably the wolf looking for a pack. It’s a never-ending loneliness with a want to just be left like that. To hunt but also hide. Kill or be killed.”

It’s silent, for a long while. They walk along together, side-by-side. Then-

“ _Which are you?_ ”

He doesn’t answer.

 

  
  
Later that day as he lies, feigning sleep, the voice shuffles around.

(He’d never have used the word shuffle for the voice. They seemed too dignified to do anything relating to shuffling—until now.)

They’re still in human form, still unnervingly pale, still meticulously made up and perfect in appearance. But they’re a little shaken. A little less untouchable. A little less sacred.

More human.

(He pauses at this thought. Were they even human in any way? They certainly didn’t act like one.)

“What are you doing?” he asks, giving up on sleep. They stop their pacing to look at him.

“ _Listening_ ,” is their reply.

“To what?”

“ _To everything_.”

“What?”

“ _To the forest_ ,” they say, amused. “ _To the trees, the wind, the stars. There is much to listen to once you find it_.”

“You’re weird.” He rolls on his back, staring up. “Can’t find anything like this. Too much fog.”

“ _I fear I cannot fix that_ ,” but they move to sit, settling by Kentarou's side.

“Course not.” He keeps looking anyways. “Is it ever night here?”

“ _We do not have a change of day and night like the humans, no, but there is Night. When Day rules the realm, Night takes her rest. When it is her rule, Day takes his._ ”

“… Is that a yes?”

“ _Of course_ ,” they say, like it was obvious, but a warm breeze blows past.

“Does it ever get dark?”

“ _Light is shared in this realm, but this is my home. There is dark, but very rarely_.”

“Just say yes or no,” he grumbles. “Guessing that’s a no.”

“ _Not now, no. Am I allowed to ask a question?_ ” The guide’s face pokes into view, blinking curiously. They have a short staring contest before Kentarou looks away.

“Sure. It’s your home, your rules.”

“ _What would it take for you to keep yourself free?_ ”

He closes his eyes and turns away, onto his side. “Why?”

“ _You have a long life ahead of you, traveler. Why must you throw it all away?_ ”

“It’s just my life. You tryin’ to say my measly life is worth more than a hundred others? And it’s not like I'm dying.”

“ _I am saying your one life is worth as much as any others, and you are throwing yours away_.”

“That's a lie.”

A pause.

“ _Traveler, how much is a life worth? Tell me_.”

He shrugs, curling up. “Dunno.”

“ _I believe a life is priceless, yet worthless all at once_.” They quickly shush him when he tries to protest. “ _Let me explain_.”

“ _The entirety of life is an indefinable thing. I am not speaking of this. I speak of a life, singular. For some, a life is the most important thing about them. A life is living. This is true for most creatures in this world, the rabbits, the wolves, the birds, the humans. A life is priceless to them because it is the longest they have_.”

“ _Yet a life is worthless. Most lives are passed simply, quietly, to no importance but for those closest. Does it matter to you if a life passes if you never knew it? Not unless it is special to you in some way. This is what a life is to some. It is what many gods believe at times. ‘Oh, see the human spirits rise, they pass like flies. How sad.’”_

“So what are you saying?” Kentarou prompts after a moment, turning his head slightly.

“I am saying... Do not try to act as a god. Live as a human. As free as you will.”

There is another silence, blown along with a light breeze.

“I’ve got a question,” he says suddenly. “Why do you care?”

“ _I simply believe you shouldn’t throw your life away so quickly_.” Then, “ _I will tell you a story in exchange_.”

Kentarou scoffs and rolls back so he can see the voice clearly. “How ‘bout you tell the story for my name, and I get to decide what to do on my own.”

“ _I do not_ -“

“The name’s Kentarou. Nice to meet you, weird voice person. Thanks for being rude and almost walking me off a cliff. Really appreciated that.”

They look almost offended and it's such a contrast to their usual reserved look that he starts laughing, loud and relaxed, bubbling up out of nowhere. When he looks back at them, they have a strange expression that’s a combination of confusion, delight, and the previous offended one that it sets him off again, rolling back on his side and clutching at his stomach.

After he calms down, laughter fading, he rolls to face the sky. The voice lies so their head sits next to his, shoulders brushing.

“ _Have you finished?_ ” they ask, and he chuckles.

“I haven’t laughed that much in a long time. Forgot what it felt like. Thanks.”

He turns his head to look at them, eyes widening when he sees them looking back, bright gold meeting his own brown. He turns away.

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” they whisper. “ _Would you like your story?_ ”

Kentarou tries to sleep again, moving his pack so it's more comfortable. But he can feel them waiting for a reply.

“Okay.”

A light breeze.

“ _Long, long ago_ ,” the voice breathes, “ _there was a man_.”

 

  
  
This man lived on his own. His wife had passed away the previous year from a sickness ravaging the country.

The man lived in a small home by the woods where he would wake in the morning, eat a simple meal, and go on a stroll every day.

Every day, he would greet his neighbor.

His neighbor was a nice lady about the same age of his late wife. Every morning after his simple meal, he would step out on his simple doorstep, wearing his simple clothes, and would say a simple thing:

“Morning.”

Then he would give a little wave and walk off into the woods.

The lady was not a morning person, not at all. She was a witch, you see. Whenever she would go into the little town in the mornings, the people would look away in fear, pulling along their children with nervous little glances. But she was a nice lady, and a very nice witch.

So she would stay at home in the morning to wait for her kind neighbor to say, “Morning.”

For this would be the nicest thing anyone would say to her for the rest of the day.

But she was not lonely, oh no. Every day after running to town, she would return to the company of her pets. A rabbit and a bird.

They did not have names, no, and they were not pets either, really. The rabbit was grey with dark eyes, and the bird was red.

She also had a son.

So every day the woman would wake, eat a meal with her son, feed the animals, and wait for her neighbor to say “Morning.” Then she would go to town to buy some bread and return home to tend her garden.

You must remember this lady was nice, and this lady was a very nice witch. This is important later.

The townspeople did not like the nice lady by the woods. They feared her. They rumored she was crazy for she would talk to dolls and birds and rabbits and that those were really people she had cursed. So they told their children to stay away and any travelers that the woods were filled with wild animals that would maul any who would come near and vengeful spirits who would steal their children. Soon, the entire countryside would learn of the haunted forest and know to stay away.

But the man would go on a stroll every day in the woods, and the lady would garden. This was their day.

Until it wasn’t.

One day when the man went to say “Morning,” the lady wasn’t there. He found it suspicious, but he’d heard she was going somewhere from the townspeople so he thought nothing of it.

She did not show the next day either.

Or the next.

Or the week after when the man would say “Morning” so he decided to visit her.

He walked up to her door with the stone rabbit and a carved bird and knocked once, twice when no one answered. The door creaked open. Thinking she must have forgotten to lock it, he simply pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was empty.

The floor was bare, with no furniture in sight but for a chair in the corner by the window. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark but there must have been a light somewhere because he could see. He could see perfectly.

For he saw the woman sitting on the chair in the corner, talking. In an empty room, the nice lady was sitting in the corner in mysterious light talking about how a nice man would say “Morning.”

To a doll.

A very well-made doll it was, with the skin of ivory, hair of silver thread, and eyes.

What terrifying eyes.

Horrified, the man quickly backed away and shut the door, turning to return home. He cast a few nervous looks to the rabbit and the bird as he went, feeling watched.

He didn’t go on a stroll that day.

The next morning, he did not say “Morning,” though she had reappeared.

He started feeling ill from his simple meal and so decided to skip it, waiting for evening.

He stopped talking altogether when the rabbit and the bird would stare at him whenever he would leave his home for town.

It was until one day when he opened his door and saw the doll. Who sat on his doorstep holding a note. It said:

‘Take care of my son’

You cannot imagine his fear. The nice lady, crazy? Leaving a doll and calling it her ‘son?’ He would be mad to keep it! So he picked up the doll with the note, plucked up the stone rabbit, and pulled off the wooden bird from the witch’s door. Then, he went on a stroll.

He did not wander, did not stray from his path. He walked straight in, stayed for several long hours, and walked straight out.

The townspeople would find the two hung and dead in their separate homes long after this day when they finally decide to check on them.

A tragedy by all means. The nice man, afraid for his life, decided to cut his short. The nice lady, a very nice witch, had seen the horror on the nice man’s face that day. She had thought having a long life would not be worth the pain of rejection for all of it.

She placed all of her love in her son and sent him away.

As for him, the doll, the rabbit, and the bird were buried in the woods by time. The wooden bird broke down into the soil. The stone rabbit had broken when the man threw it away.

And the doll…

 

  
  
Kentarou wakes to shouting.

“Hey! There’s a man!” someone calls loudly. He blinks and tries to sit up, groaning.

“Please relax, sir. What is your name?” He groans again. The person leaning over him is wearing armor, a sword strapped to his side.

He closes his eyes. “Kyoutani.” he grunts. It’s too bright.

“I’m Kindaichi,” the man says, straightening up. He waves someone over, gesturing down to where Kentarou lies.

“Why were you in there?” Kindaichi asks when another person arrives, looking vaguely concerned. He merely squints at them. Why was it so bright?

“Where’m I?”

“Ah, right outside the great city of Seijoh. This where you wanted to go?” The second person, also clad in armor, asks flatly, as if Kentarou were the source of all his troubles. “Do we need to get you medical attention?” first guy asks.

“I’m fine,” and he proves this by sitting up (finally). “I’m by the road?”

“Um, yes,” Kindaichi says. “We’re on patrol. Where did you come from?”

“I was in the forest? The one right-” Wait.

“I’m sorry, but the nearest forest is down the road that way. All the way over there?”

He looks. He’s sitting at the side of what looks like the main road, propped against a lone tree. The area around him is wide field, as far as he can see. Far, far away in the distance, a cluster of trees stands, a green line on the horizon.

“No way...”

 

  
  
That night as he sleeps, lying in a rest house in the city, he dreams.

Of a gentle breeze gusting by, brushing his hands, tickling his nose. Of quiet footsteps rustling through grass and fallen leaves. Of cold fingers combing his hair, smoothing his brow.

Of a calming tune, carried on the wind, as he rises from the ground, lifted by something strong and solid, curling around his waist, his arms and legs, supporting his head.

Of a whispered secret, soft and sweet, curling in his ear, taking root in his mind.

“ _The doll... The doll did not die, in the end. After the man had abandoned it in the woods, a spirit passed by. The spirit saw the doll, the rabbit, and the bird, and took pity on the poor things. It could feel the love of the lady surrounding them, written on the note. So it gave them life._ ”

“ _The rabbit and the bird would fade eventually, the spirit decided, so it gave a little bit of the two to the doll. They would live on in it. And the doll…”_

“ _It could not live as a human would, the spirit knew. For it was much too strange for humans to bear. No, it could not become a human. Instead, the spirit gave the doll some of its own power_.”

“ _The doll became a spirit of its own. It would become a part of the mist, so it could be and see anywhere. It became part of the earth, to change and shape it as it pleased. It became part of the trees, the plants, the animals, so it could know what it felt to be alive_.”

“ _And the spirit left a thought—an important thought—that became the doll's entire purpose: ‘Help those who are lost. And those who need to find their way. The forest is alive... And it will help you. Just remember to ask_.’”

“ _Then if gave a gift. ’You will not know the feeling of life, I’m afraid,’ the spirit said as the doll started to move. ‘Life is for the living. But I will give you one thing.’ It looked the doll in the eyes. ‘Spirits do not have names, I’m afraid. But you… You have a name, yes? I will help you remember it. Be sure to keep it a secret, for the other spirits will be jealous. Now tell me, what is it?_ ’”

“ _The doll blinked and spoke_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Ha. Haha.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://hiddenpowerfire.tumblr.com/)????
> 
> (How do you make links.)  
> ((Update: figured out how to make links.))


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